


As We Burn

by ABookAndACoffee



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Bathtub Sex, F/M, NSFW, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 10:57:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10333127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABookAndACoffee/pseuds/ABookAndACoffee
Summary: Azriel comes home from training one day and Mor helps him relax... in the bathtub."There are few times that he lets his guard down and this is one of them, as he prowls towards her, removing his armor piece by piece. Despite his evident fatigue, there is a calculation to his movements that slowly dissolves until he finally reaches the bed. His shoulders drop slightly, hesitantly.'What can I do to help?' she asks, the question not so much a question as a… suggestion. And he knows exactly what she is implying."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [illyriantremors](https://archiveofourown.org/users/illyriantremors/gifts).



> This was originally a dialogue prompt “I’m gonna lay down and die for like half hour okay?”, and while I changed the dialogue quite a bit, it did inspire this short, smutty piece. 
> 
> Title from the Eisley song Sparking.
> 
> This is also for @illyriantremors for being so lovely and kind all the time! :) And also for being as much of a moriel slut as I am.

When Azriel walks into their bedroom, Morrigan is sprawled out on their bed, a book in front of her. The sight of her is like coming home no matter where they are, and right now, he could use all the comfort she has to offer. A pale blue dress is pooled around her legs, her bare feet tapping in time to a rhythm in her head. Her hair has been thrown into a loose braid and she twirls the end of it between her fingers. 

She looks up at Azriel, taking in the mud and debris on his clothing. When her warm brown eyes meet his hazel, he nearly sighs in relief. 

She makes a gesture at him, indicating the mess he has become. “Az.” A smile in her voice. “Join me, but take that off first.” She grins at him, making room for him. The shift of her body on the bed reveals the space where she has been, how long she has been waiting for him. He remarks this detail. 

Groaning, he complies. The distance between them feels like miles, but he will savor every inch of it, every step that takes him closer to her. 

“How was training?” she asks. He begins unfastening the various contraptions that keep him in the armor, Mor watching his fingers work. 

“Oh, these new recruits… the usual,” he answers, his movements to the bed sluggish. “I’m going to lie down for a bit,” Azriel finishes. He wants to sink into the mountain of blankets she insists on keeping, dissolve himself in the warmth of her arms and smell of her that was once a sign that she was near, and now has become quotidian in the most reassuring way. 

She makes a sympathetic _mm-hmmm_ as she sits up, pulling the skirts of her dress up to cross her legs. The book goes to the nightstand with a quick flick of her wrist. She pulls her braid around to rest over one shoulder and cocks her head at him. 

He smells like the field he was training in, like earth and sweat and grass mingled with his usual leather and vanilla, and she feels something stirring in her at the thought of his commanding presence when he finds himself in front of young Illyrians. Pride, that he is hers, a satisfying sense that he will never want anyone else, along with another sensation. One that she knows she’ll never tire of, never stop feeling when she looks at him. 

There are few times that he lets his guard down and this is one of them, as he prowls towards her, removing his armor piece by piece. Despite his evident fatigue, there is a calculation to his movements that slowly dissolves until he finally reaches the bed. His shoulders drop slightly, hesitantly. 

“What can I do to help?” she asks, the question not so much a question as a… suggestion. And he knows exactly what she is implying. 

His rough, scarred hands make quick work of the rest of his armor until it is strewn haphazardly across their bedroom floor. Mor’s eyes widen slightly when he takes his cotton undershirt off over his head, the slits in back moving easily over his wings. Her scent begins to change, confirming what he had gathered from her tone. 

“Mor…” he starts to say, but she bites her bottom lip, and damned if he doesn’t find his body responding to her, to that simple gesture. He closes his eyes briefly as he takes in the familiar smell of her, mingled with her desire. 

She sits up on her knees and holds her skirts up so she can move to the end of the bed until they are nearly touching. One hand goes to his chest, the other reaching around to the back of his head. Tugging gently on his hair she brings him to meet her lips, softly at first. When his arms go around her waist, nearly pulling her up and off her knees, she pushes her tongue past his lips and savors the tang of salt from his workout, the musty smell of earth emanating from him. 

“Morrigan,” he says softly when she pulls away. 

“Azriel,” she replies. 

He groans as they fall down onto the bed together. Pulling himself up to his pillow and making space on his shoulder for her, she goes without further invitation, her head finding the space in the crook. 

She begins circling a finger on his chest and leans down to place her lips on the skin she had traced. He has darkened recently from being in the sun so often, and the deepening of his already-bronze skin makes his scars stand out in relief. She traces them familiarly, remembering a time when he had held her at a distance, these marks too close to reminding him of who and what he thought he was. She returns her lips to his skin and flicks her tongue on him, once. When his breath catches, she smiles. 

She presses her palm to his chest, pushing herself up to look at him. “You’re getting the bed dirty,” she says. “We should get you cleaned up.” 

“That sounds like a lot of work right now,” he says, knowing it is essentially futile, if she has something in her mind. But his protests are merely a preamble, his thoughts already going to how he will make her moan his name, memories of her, breathless, damp with sweat, limp in his arms. 

“Azriel,” Mor says, something in her voice telling him that she wasn’t going to take that for an answer. “Don’t worry. I’ll do the heavy lifting. You just need to sit there.” 

She is met with silence, Azriel waiting to see what she has in mind. She leaves his arms, slowly, standing next to the bed. Keeping her eyes on him, she takes her dress off, leaving her in lacy blue underwear. 

“Morrigan…” he says, swallowing. He props himself up on one elbow, eyes moving up and down her body appreciatively. 

Without a word she turns and walks to their bathroom, leaving the rest of her clothing in a trail behind her while he watches. 

He soon hears the sound of the bathtub running. Cursing his inability to deny her anything, and his inability to keep himself from responding to the flick of her tongue on his skin, the sight of her naked backside, he leaps out of bed, losing his pants as he makes his way after her. 

When they had moved into this townhouse she insisted on installing the largest tub possible, and she is waiting for him on its bench. Azriel’s breath hitches, eyes roaming what little skin he can see. Her neck and chest are already coated in sweat from the heat of the bath, hair sticking to her neck, her breasts barely visible beneath the water. 

She skims her fingertips along the surface of the water, eyes on him as he joins her in the warm water. Her gaze devours him just as greedily as he had her, a slight curl to her lips when her eyes travel to his cock and see that he is already hard for her. 

He eases his way into the water, suppressing a groan at the relief the water provides his sore muscles. Sliding over to her on the bench, he wastes no time. He takes the ribbon from her braid and runs his fingers through her strands before using her hair to pull her to him, their mouths meeting and devouring as he grabs her hips to move her into his lap. The moisture in the air has even the skin above water slippery and they grab at each other with urgency. Mor swings a leg over him to settle into his lap, holding his face between her hands as they kiss and his hands roam over her, their roughness muted by the water. 

Azriel places his hands underneath her arms and lifts her slightly, so she is again on her knees in front of him. But with him seated before her he is level with her breasts, and he kisses the aching underside of one as he cups the other in his hand. Sucking her nipple into his mouth, he swirls his tongue around the peak, eliciting a groan and something that sounds like his name. 

“Az… I was going to take care of you,” she protests, but there is hardly a hint of sincerity in her voice. He doesn’t answer her, and she knows that this is exactly what they both need. 

She moves her hips, pressing into his chest, but she is too far away from his lap, his cock, from anything that would help build the tension she needs. She moves her hand between her legs to slide a finger into her folds, rubbing circles on her clit. Azriel’s mouth is still on her but he senses what she is doing and moves his hand between her legs. Not to replace hers, but to join her. 

Morrigan moans louder when she realizes what he intends; he places his fingers beside hers, helping her, moving his fingers alongside hers as she creates the pressure she needs. The added movement of his fingers with hers, the feeling of his rougher hands alongside her own nearly breaks her; that in this, again, he will serve her without asking if she wants or needs him to. 

Azriel pulls his mouth from her long enough to direct her. “Show me what you want, Morrigan. Tell me what you need.” She nods, placing her fingers over his as they begin to move together, stroking her sex. It’s a pattern they both know from the hundreds of times he has touched her in this way, or watched her touch herself. Memories of when he had commanded her before come to mind, and she knows he is thinking of the same thing; of the first time, when he had asked her how she liked to be touched. And now they work together, their fingers slipping over each other as they move through her slick folds. 

His mouth moves to her other breast, kissing and licking and sucking a path to it before pulling the other nipple into his mouth. He places his free hand on the small of her back, sensing the weakening in her knees and her gradual inability to hold herself up in front of him while they both bring her closer to shattering. 

Mor guides his fingers inside of her, whimpering a small _please_ that he would have missed had her lips not been near his ear. He obliges and thrusts into her, filling her with two fingers immediately as his thumb moves with her fingers on her clit. When she comes it is with both of their hands between her legs and his mouth on her breast, and she thinks she might be finished, that all the waiting and the patience has led her to this moment, with her mate between her legs and love and care in his eyes. 

She lets her head fall to rest on his, running her fingers through his hair and brushing it out of his eyes. Her chest heaves as she lowers herself back down to sitting in his lap, kissing a path down his face, the salt from his skin still coating her lips. 

His thumbs press into the jut of her hips, tracing the familiar curve and he wants to mark her, to leave something to show where he has been, where he will be again and again. She moans lightly and puts her hands over his, guiding her hips over his together. 

Azriel shifts forward on the bench, making room for Morrigan to slide onto him. She does so slowly, stroking him briefly before holding him between her legs until she sinks down, down, and his cock is filling her and there is nothing outside of this feeling, his breath on her face, the steady drip of the faucet, her hands tracing the contours of his face. 

His hand is on her neck, holding her in place where he wants her as she begins to move on his cock. His thumb slips over her wet skin and she tilts her head just enough to take it into her mouth, holding it between her teeth gently, then biting down harder until he growls her name and she releases it with a sly grin. He pulls her towards him to leave a bruising kiss on her lips, not tasting her, not now, but leaving his mark all the same. As she pulls away to concentrate on the rhythm of her hips on his, he bites her bottom lip, refusing to release her until he has nearly drawn blood. She groans in satisfaction and increases her pace, bracing herself on his shoulders. 

He presses a palm into her stomach, asking if she can feel him filling her, if she feels good, if she likes having his cock inside of her; he takes over, though she is the one riding him, in his lap. All she can do is nod and moan his name in response. He knows the answers to his questions, but the way his chest rumbles against her, his breath brushing her ear as he speaks… it’s all she can do to keep herself together. Azriel has always been commanding in the bedroom, wanting to see her moan and whimper and become a mass of nerves that he can stroke until she hums, until he has found the right pitch to play her at and there is nothing left to do but give her everything. 

Not satisfied with this change in roles, she slowly reaches behind him to stroke the spot on his back where his wings join, her fingers brushing the tendon there in a way that ends his murmured reassurances. Instead he is reduced to unintelligible moans and drops his head to her shoulder. With a satisfied smirk, Mor continues moving her hips on him, barely touching the membrane. He cups her breasts in his hands and places his lips on her, too overcome with the way she feels around his cock to call them proper kisses. 

Reduced to nothing but sensation and movement, they concentrate on building to their climaxes, Azriel gripping her hips hard enough to leave marks that he knows he will place his lips on later, thrusting up into her until she places a steady hand on his shoulder, shaking her head at him. Throwing her head back, she rocks on him harder and faster until she comes around him, gripping him between her thighs. She continues moving and she manages to find smaller waves of pleasure again and again as he comes inside of her, gripping her close to him and pulling on her shoulders to guide her movements on him as he finishes. 

Azriel leans back on the wall of the tub, his breathing becoming even as Mor places small kisses along his jaw, his ear, until she is satisfied and slides off of him. Motioning for him to turn, she begins to bathe him. 

She washes him slowly, the frenzy that had begun when he entered the bathroom slowing to a soothing pace. When she finishes his back she embraces him from behind, clasping her hands together in front of him and resting her cheek on the space above his wings. He closes his hands around hers and they sit like this until she needs to warm the water again. When he hears her breath slowing down he gently turns so that she has to ease off of his back. He returns the favor before the leave the bathtub, running a sponge over her, tracing familiar paths that connect scars and freckles. 

As they stand to go to the bedroom he scoops her up his arms, walking into the room with her. 

“Az,” she whispers in his ear. 

“Morrigan,” he replies. 

“I was supposed to take care of you. You were tired,” she says, looking at him as he walks, her arms wrapped around his neck. 

He leans forward and whispers in her ear, “You knew what you were doing, Morrigan.” 

She grins back at him sheepishly, biting her tongue to keep her from smiling too broadly. 

When he sets her down in the bed he crawls in behind her, and finally gets to bury himself in the mountain of blankets and the warmth of his Morrigan, and they settle into a calm evening of solitude. 


End file.
